


It's All Down To Drugs

by flawedamythyst



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Episode: s02e05 Simon Said, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-12
Updated: 2007-08-28
Packaged: 2018-10-16 02:28:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10561880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawedamythyst/pseuds/flawedamythyst
Summary: Sam gets roofied, and the repercussions echo down the years.





	1. Chapter 1

Sam had been bored before the man came over. Dean had disappeared to play pool, leaving Sam to nurse his lemonade and wonder gloomily why he didn't get paid for being Dean's glorified taxi driver. Then this man - Chris, he said his name was - came over, and started talking to Sam. He was friendly and interesting and Sam started to feel like he belonged at the bar. Just another adult, chatting to a friend about life, and having a quiet drink.

When he'd come back from the bathroom, Chris had a beer waiting for him on the table. Sam hesitated, and glanced over to where Dean was concentrating on the cue ball. If Dean found out he'd had a beer, there was no way he'd let Sam drive the Impala home, which would defeat the purpose of Sam being there at all. Dean wasn't paying Sam any attention though - he didn’t even glance in his direction. It looked like he'd found a couple of girls to flirt with. Sam suppressed a moment of annoyance, moved the beer out of Dean's direct line of sight and took a cautious sip. It wasn't as if one drink was going to affect his driving - Dean was just paranoid.

About ten minutes later, most of the beer was gone, and Sam was finding it hard to focus on what Chris was saying.

"...You're very handsome."

Sam smiled. "Thanks!" Then he frowned. "Dean always says I look like a girl. Which is silly, really, because if anyone looks like a girl, it's Dean." Sam leaned forward conspiratorially. "He has these lips, you know. And his eyelashes are way too long and pretty for a guy." Chris nodded, grinning, and watching his movement made Sam dizzy for a moment.

He frowned again. "Are you sure that was just a beer? I feel a bit strange."

Chris put his hand on top of Sam's. "Of course it was just a beer. It's probably the heat - maybe we should go outside."

Sam squinted at their hands, and then looked round the rest of the bar and realised that everything more than a few feet away was a blurry haze.

"You put something in my drink," he said, enunciating carefully.

"Of course not!" started Chris, but Sam wasn't listening to him anymore.

He threw his head back and bellowed, "DEAN!" He was vaguely aware of the rest of the room falling silent, but his grip on reality was rapidly disappearing.

"Sam," came Dean's exasperated voice somewhere to his left, "I thought I told you to just sit tight and stay..." Dean's voice trailed off as Sam swung round in his seat and tried to focus on Dean's face.

"Jesus, Sam, what did you drink?"

Sam pouted and waved a finger in Chris's direction. "He put something in my drink!" he accused, "and now I feel all..." he waved a hand in front of his face, and then got distracted by the pretty after images and lost his train of thought. It didn't matter. Dean was here now - he'd take care of everything.

 

****

 

Dean turned to look at the guy who was sitting with Sam. He was aware that most of the bar was now silently watching the drama unfold.

"What did you do to my brother?" he growled.

The man stood up and held his hands out in a placating gesture. "I just bought him a beer, I swear. He went to the bathroom, and when he came back he was acting like this. Maybe he took something."

Dean didn't even think about it, he just punched him in the face.

"Sam wouldn't do that," he said as the guy clutched at his nose. "And what the fuck were you doing buying him a beer anyway? He's seventeen years old!"

The man's nose was bleeding, Dean saw with satisfaction, and he really looked scared.

"I didn't know that! I thought he was older! I thought he was interested in..." he trailed off with an embarrassed shrug and a muttered, "you know."

"So you drugged him," said Dean incredulously. "You're not very confident about your pulling power, are you?"

"I didn't drug him," insisted the man, sulkily, but Dean wasn't listening.

"Sam," he said. Sam was wiggling his fingers in front of his face, staring at them intently, and didn’t even seem to hear Dean.

"Sam," he tried again, slightly louder. Sam tore his attention away from his fingers and looked up at Dean with a bright smile that reminded Dean of when Sam had been a toddler.

"Did you want to sleep with this guy?" he asked, not sure why it mattered so much, but unwilling to let it go without getting Sam's side of it.

Sam laughed. "Don't be silly, Dean. You know you're the only guy I want to sleep with." Dean blinked in shock.

The man frowned. "I thought you said he was your brother?"

Dean turned and glared at him; happy to be distracted from the way Sam was looking at him. "I lied," he said, still aware of their audience.

Sam frowned and looked at the man. "You drugged me!" he said, as if realising it for the first time. "You're a bad man!"

"I think you should leave," came a new voice from behind Dean, and he swung around, mouth already open to protest, but the manager wasn't looking at him. He was looking at the man who'd drugged Sam, and Dean realised that, for once, he wasn't the one being thrown out.

The man started to protest, but the manager ignored him, turning to Dean. "Unless you want me to call the cops."

Dean only had to think about it for a split second - police would mean a court case, and their fake identities wouldn't stand up to that kind of scrutiny. Besides, they couldn't afford to spend that much time in this town. He shook his head regretfully, then stepped closer to the man, lowering his voice so that no one else could hear him.

"You should leave here, and you should get as far away as possible, because I'm going to hunt you down and cut off your balls with a rusty razor blade and feed them to you."

The man stared at him, wide-eyed, then turned and disappeared.

Sam cheered. "You won! You always win staring contests!" Dean turned and looked at him. He'd managed to stand up, but was listing slightly to the left. "I think it's because you have such pretty eyes," Sam continued, "It distracts people."

"Time to go home and sleep it off, Alice," announced Dean, loudly, hoping to shut Sam up. It worked. Sam turned towards the door, tripped over nothing and almost crashed to the ground. Dean swept in and pulled one of Sam's arms over his shoulders and headed for the door. The manager took Sam's other side, and together they managed to get him outside, across the parking lot and into the Impala, despite Sam's instability, and attempts to 'eat the stars'.

The drive back was a nightmare. Sam opened the window and stuck his head out, claiming that he wanted to blow the fog out of his brain. Which would have been fine, except he then undid his seatbelt and tried to climb out of the window completely so that he could fly away. Dean had to grab his belt with one hand while he pulled the car over, then force Sam inside so he could shut the window.

Sam was very upset. "You never let me fly," he started tearfully, slumping down in his seat. "All I want to do is fly away, and you and Dad won't let me."

Dean ignored him and started the car again, hoping to get home before Sam got any more crazy ideas in his head.

Sam seemed content to just sit still now, but not to be quiet. "I wish I was a bird. You'd let me fly away then. But they don't let birds into college, so I still wouldn't be able to go. Course, they can't hunt either, ‘cos they can't shoot a gun."

Only a couple more blocks, then they were home. Dean started to pray that Dad would be out.

"Well, maybe the bigger ones could. Like an eagle or something, if they propped the gun on a table or something, then pulled the trigger with their beak. I don't think talons have enough strength to do that, do you?"

Dean realised Sam was staring at him with pupil-filled eyes, waiting for an answer. He ran the last few minutes of Sam's ramble through his head.

"Probably not," he said, pulling into their driveway and wondering how he was going to get Sam inside.

Sam seemed satisfied with that answer. Dean turned the engine off, got out, and hurried round to the passenger side. He opened the door, and Sam smiled up at him as if it had been years since they'd seen each other. "Dean!" he cried, happily.

"Time to get out," said Dean. Sam swung his legs over until he was sitting sideways on the seat and reached out a hand. Dean thought he was going to put it on Dean's shoulder and use it to lever himself up, but instead he ran a gentle finger over Dean's mouth.

"You do have girl's lips," he said, emphasising the 'do' as if they'd been having an argument about it.

Dean gritted his teeth and pulled Sam's hand away. "On the count of three, you're going to stand up, ok?" he said.

"Oh! A game!" said Sam, excitedly. He sat up straighter and focused on Dean's face.

"One...two...three," said Dean. Surprisingly, Sam did manage to stand up, and Dean walked him a couple of steps sideways and then leaned him against the car so that he could shut the door.

"Did I win?" asked Sam, anxiously.

"Yeah, course you did, Sammy," said Dean.

Sam beamed, then wobbled. "Oh Dean," he said unhappily, his mood changing abruptly again, "Everything keeps disappearing."

"It's all right," replied Dean, putting one of Sam's arms over his shoulders again, "we're going to get you to bed, and when you wake up, you'll feel much better."

"Ok," said Sam, uncertainly. Dean started them towards the front door, wondering why the distance of a few feet suddenly seemed so far.

"You won't disappear, will you?" Sam was starting to sound close to tears.

“Of course not," said Dean, juggling Sam's weight and the front door key while trying not to lose his balance.

Sam relaxed against him, which made Dean stumble slightly. "Good," said Sam firmly. "That would be the very worst thing ever, if you disappeared."

Dean finally managed to get Sam inside, only to see that his prayers hadn't been answered. John was sitting on the couch, surrounded by pieces of paper and a small mountain of books. He frowned and stood up as they lurched in the door.

"Uh oh," said Sam, "It's Dad." His voice dropped to a loud whisper which was still clearly audible to John. "Is he going to be mad at me?"

"Jesus, Dean," said John, "What the hell happened?"

"The bad man drugged me!" said Sam, loudly.

"Some bastard put something in Sam's drink," said Dean, trying to get Sam moving in the direction of the bedroom. John looked shocked for a moment, and then hurried forward to help Dean support Sam.

"Wow," said Sam, as they tried to get him across the room to the bedroom, "I really am taller than both of you."

Dean gritted his teeth. Sam took his arm off Dean's shoulders to pat him on the head and wobbled backwards. Both Dean and John grabbed at him and kept him upright, although Dean was very tempted to just let him fall over and sleep it off on the floor.

Sam laughed as they set off for the bedroom again. "You guys always catch me when I fall."

"Good God," muttered John, "how long has he been like this?"

"About twenty minutes," replied Dean, wondering why it felt like a lifetime.

Sam was falling asleep standing up now, trying to rest his head on Dean's shoulder. When they got him to the foot of the bed, he said, "Bed!" in a tired voice and fell forwards on to it, crashing down so hard that Dean thought it was going to collapse.

Dean sighed with relief, rotated his aching shoulder and then knelt down to take off Sam's shoes.

"So, where were you while Sam was getting high?" asked John in a dangerously low voice.

"At the pool tables," said Dean, defensively. "I left him sitting at the bar with a soda, and the next thing I know, he's off his head and some guy is trying to convince me he was shooting up in the washroom."

"He was a bad man," announced Sam's muffled voice.

John glanced at Sam surprised, clearly having assumed he was unconscious, and then gave Dean a very firm 'we'll talk about this later' look.

Sam rolled onto his back as Dean pulled off his shoes and dragged the blankets over him.

"He made everything disappear." Sam said, beginning to sound upset again.

"It's ok," said Dean, "if you go to sleep, it'll all be back in the morning."

He started to turn away, and Sam's hand shot out and caught his wrist.

"Where are you going?" he said, panicked.

"Just to get you some water," said Dean, trying to twist his wrist out of Sam's grip.

Sam tightened his grip. "You said you wouldn't disappear!"

"I'm just going to the bathroom, I'll be right back." said Dean. He glanced at John to see that he was smirking at the scene. Dean glared at him.

"You promised!" wailed Sam. His grip was now so tight that Dean was worried about losing the blood supply to his hand.

"Dad will still be here," he offered.

"I don't want Dad," cried Sam, "I want you!"

That was beginning to sound dangerously close to what Sam had said in the bar and Dean suddenly decided that he wanted Sam to shut up, right now, before he said something in front of John that couldn't be ignored in the morning.

"Fine, fine," he relented. "I'll stay. Dad can get your water."

Sam blinked eyes that Dean was a little surprised to see tears in. "You won't disappear?"

"No, I'll stay right here," said Dean, trying to sound reassuring rather than annoyed.

Sam smiled and his eyes began to slide shut. "Thanks Dean. You're the best." There was a brief pause, and then he mumbled, "I love you."

Den looked back at John, who'd gone passed smirking and was now openly grinning at them. Dean wondered what he had done to piss God off so much lately and then sat down on the floor, resigned to a long night.

 

****

 

Sam's head pounded. For the first few minutes of being awake, that was all he could focus on. Then he became aware of his enormous thirst and the painful cramp in his hand. He carefully cracked open his eyelids, squinting as daylight stabbed through his retinas and into his brain. He was in bed, but he had no recollection of getting there. What the hell had happened last night? He tried to remember, but attempting to use his brain just made the headache worse. He groaned.

"Are you finally awake?" said Dean from somewhere nearby. Sam risked opening his eyes a little further and then had to concentrate in order to focus on Dean, who was sitting on the floor next to Sam's bed, leaning on the wall. Sam realised that the cramp in his hand was because he was gripping Dean's wrist. He tried to let go, but his fingers refused to cooperate.

"What happened?" he managed to say in a hoarse voice.

Dean looked disgusted. "Some bastard roofied you. What do you remember?"

Sam blinked at Dean for a moment and then attempted to pull some clarity from the haze in his head. "We were in a bar," he said slowly, "and then there was a guy talking to me and..." he frowned. "He bought me a beer, but everything after that is gone."

Dean was watching him very closely. "You don't remember anything after that?"

"Not really. It's all just a blur." He paused as a detail came back. "Did you hit him?"

"Damn straight I did," said Dean with satisfaction.

Sam searched his memory again, then gave up with a shrug. "I guess that's the last thing I remember," he said, "but even that's pretty much just a blur."

Dean nodded, and Sam thought he looked slightly relieved.

"What did happen?" he asked, not sure he wanted to know.

"You were out of it, saying some crazy shit, so I got you home," said Dean with a shrug, but he didn't meet Sam's eyes. "You were a little concerned that everything was going to disappear. That's why you grabbed my wrist - to keep me from disappearing."

Sam looked down at his death-grip on Dean's wrist. If he'd been holding it all night, that would go along way to explain the shooting pains travelling up his arm.

"Were you thinking about ever letting go?" asked Dean conversationally.

Sam grimaced. "I'm not sure I can. My muscles seized up."

"I haven't been able to feel my fingers since midnight," Dean pointed out.

Sam sat up a bit and tried to pry his fingers off Dean's wrist. His whole arm flared with pain in protest, but he succeeded in letting go. His fingers immediately curled up into a claw and he wondered if he'd done permanent damage. Dean flexed his fingers and rubbed his wrist.

"Sorry," said Sam.

Dean shrugged a shoulder. "That's ok."

There was silence for a moment. Sam noticed a glass of water on the bedside table and took a careful sip, wondering if his head would ever stop aching.

"So...what did I say?" he asked, unable to restrain his curiosity.

"Nothing important," said Dean and then stood up. It was a careful process that involved leaning his weight on the wall, and Sam realised guiltily that Dean must have spent the whole night sitting by his bed, waiting for Sam to let go.

Still, he wasn't about to let it lie that easily. "Dean..." he started, hating the whine in his voice that made him sound like a kid.

"It doesn't matter, Sammy," said Dean. "You were completely out of it. You had no idea what was happening." He headed towards the bathroom, moving stiffly. "Everyone knows that nothing you say while roofied counts," he added as he shut the door behind himself.

Sam sighed and lay back down. Knowing Dean, that would be his final word on the matter. Sam shut his eyes and decided that maybe that was a good thing. He felt bad enough already without knowing exactly how much of an idiot he'd made of himself. He let sleep wash over him, and hoped he'd feel better when he next woke up.

 

****

 

Dean leaned his weight on the sink and sighed, eyeing his bleary-eyed reflection. Hopefully Sam would leave it there. Dean really didn't want to think about what Sam had said last night. It made it far too tempting to just straight out ask Sam the question that had been running through his mind all night, as he'd watched Sam sleep and occasionally tried to pull his wrist out of Sam's grip.

_What the fuck did you mean by I'm the only guy you want to sleep with?_

Dean scrubbed his hands over his face and turned the tap on, grabbing his toothbrush. _He was roofied_ , he thought, fiercely. _Nothing he said counts._

If he held that firmly at the forefront of his mind, maybe he'd be able to forget the feel of Sam's finger against his mouth. Maybe he'd be able to keep things normal between them. _Brothers_ , he reminded himself. _And he was roofied._ He just had to forget the conversation as thoroughly as Sam had. He squeezed toothpaste onto his brush, and started brushing with fast, hard strokes.


	2. It's All Down To Drugs 2/4

For the most part Dean managed to forget about it, too. For a few weeks, the things Sam had said haunted him, and he found it hard to look Sam in the eye without flashing back to the look on Sam's face as he'd told Dean he had pretty eyes. But then Sam announced that he was leaving for college and all hell broke loose, and Sam's roofied confession was the least of Dean's worries. In no time at all, Sam was gone and there was no point in thinking about him at all, so Dean did his best not to.

By the time Sam came back, so much had changed that Dean could barely reconcile the memory of Sam as an innocent, drugged, seventeen year old with the new, grief-stricken version.

Still, with Sam around again, Dean found himself thinking about what he'd said back then, and what it might have meant. And what he might say now, in the same circumstances.

Dean held on to what he'd said though - nothing Sam had said then counted. He still tried his best to not think about it, even if Sam's laughing, 'don't be silly Dean, you know you're the only guy I want to sleep with,' had a tendency to float through his mind on dark nights when he couldn't sleep.

Which is why he was so annoyed when Sam wouldn't do the same for him after his own...indiscretion. It seemed only fair that they pretend Dean hadn't been forced to tell those harsh truths, but, of course, Sam didn't see it like, bringing it up at the first available opportunity.

"You know, I heard you before, when Andy made you tell the truth. You're just as scared of this as I am."

Dean frowned, wondering how to point out how unjust it was to hold him accountable.

"That was mind control. That was, that was like, like being roofied, man, that doesn't count," he said, gesticulating, feeling slightly guilty about bringing up something neither of them had mentioned for so long.

"What?" said Sam, sounding both amused and indignant.

Dean's guilt vanished in an instant. Sam clearly didn't remember being roofied at all. He searched for some other way to get out of it and ended up saying, slightly lamely but with as much confidence as he could muster, "No. I...I'm calling a do-over."

Sam gave him his patented 'humouring the older brother look.' "What are you, seven?"

Dean resisted the temptation to smack Sam. Mainly because the car was between them. "Doesn't matter. Look, we've just gotta keep doing what we're doing...find that evil son of a bitch and kill him." He was hoping to distract Sam with talk of the demon, and revenge. A year ago it would have worked, but Sam was still looking unconvinced when the phone rang and interrupted the conversation. Dean hoped that would be the end of it.

 

****

 

It wasn't, of course. They'd been driving about two hours when Sam said out of nowhere, "It does count, Dean. It was the truth."

Dean clenched his jaw. "I was under duress," he gritted out, "it wouldn't count in a court of law."

"Dean, this isn't a court case! This is my life - our lives." Sam waved his hands slightly dramatically, taking in the car and the scenery passing by as well as the two of them. "I just want to know how you really feel about it, without you covering up or lying about it."

Dean breathed out a heavy sigh. "I'm not lying, okay? I just don't want to talk about it."

"But, Dean..." started Sam.

"No, Sam," interrupted Dean, getting annoyed. "I can't believe you're pushing me on this." He slapped the steering wheel in frustration. "I was tricked into saying it, and if you were a good brother, you'd let it go." He paused a moment, then added quietly, "like I did for you."

There was silence in the car for a minute or two, but Dean could almost hear the cogs of Sam's brain working and knew this wasn't over.

"When I was roofied?" said Sam eventually. "I'd forgotten about that."

"I think that's kinda the point," said Dean. Sam glared at him.

"Anyway, the situation is completely different," he said after a moment.

Dean snorted. "How? We both said more than we meant to under the influence of something. Only difference is that you don’t remember it."

Sam frowned. "So what did I say?"

Dean suppressed a sigh. Why did it always come back to that? "Doesn't matter. I'm just saying - you should let this go, like I did then."

"Jesus," said Sam, exasperated. "Fine. I won't mention it again." Dean felt his shoulders relax. "As long as you tell me what I said," continued Sam.

"Jesus, Sam, why do you have to be such a brat?" muttered Dean.

"Prerogative of the younger brother," said Sam. "Come on, Dean." Dean stared stonily at the road ahead, refusing to give into Sam's expectant look. Sam sighed. "It was years ago. It can't still matter. And I'm sick of secrets."

He sounded weary, old beyond his years, and Dean thought with guilt of their father's final, whispered words, still playing on repeat in the back of his head.

"Dean," said Sam when it became clear that Dean wasn't going to say anything, and now he sounded very young - much like he had when he was 17. Dean growled in frustration.

"I don't really remember," he lied.

Sam snorted his disbelief. "It was right before I left for Stanford, wasn't it? Did I say anything about that?"

"I guess," said Dean, feeling like a cornered animal and hating it. "Most of what you said didn't make any sense at the time, but some of it was probably about that."

"Right," said Sam, sounding pleased, as if getting Dean to admit that was a breakthrough. "So what was the rest of it about?"

"For Christ's sake, Sam, would you just leave it alone?" Dean burst out, as he let his annoyance and frustration get the better of him. "I'm not going to tell you, alright? Not even if you whine all day like a little bitch. Why've you gotta be such a pain in the ass?"

Sam huffed and sat back hard in his seat. Dean breathed a sigh of relief when no further questions were forth-coming, turned the music up and turned his full attention back to the road.

The next few hours passed in silence. Dean took the opportunity to play Mötorhead at a volume that Sam usually complained about. It wasn't until they'd checked into the motel that he realised Sam hadn't said a word all afternoon. Once in the motel room, he threw his bag on a bed, then disappeared into the bathroom, slamming the door. Dean put his bag down on the other bed and told himself that he'd spoiled Sam too much when he was younger and so it was his own fault that it was coming back to bite him on the ass. That, unfortunately, put the idea of Sam actually biting him on the ass in his head, and he had to concentrate very hard to get rid of the image.

Sam exited the bathroom fifteen minutes later, glowered at Dean and announced, abruptly, that he was going to get some food.

"Oh, good idea, I'll come too," said Dean jovially, knowing that nothing annoyed Sam more when he was in a snit than Dean pretending he hadn't noticed. Sam left the motel room without another word, slamming the door behind himself in an obvious hint that Dean wasn't welcome to join him. Dean rolled his eyes, grabbed his jacket and followed him out of the door, just in time to see Sam striding angrily into the street, completely oblivious to the truck bearing down on him, wheels beginning to skid as the driver slammed on the brakes, far too late.

"Sam!" he yelled, feeling his heart stop beating, wondering how he could get across the parking lot in time.

Sam whirled around, his face distorted by anger. "No, Dean," he started, then the truck ploughed into him, and Dean could only watch as Sam's body flew through the air and hit the tarmac with a sickening thud.

 

 

****

 

Sam was in a fog of pain. Somewhere to his left he could hear a faint beeping. He fixed his attention on it, and it gradually grew louder, although it felt like swimming through concrete. He became aware of another noise on his right, and realised after a while, with relief, that it was Dean's voice.

He couldn't make out what he was saying, but the sound of it alone comforted him. It was a while before it came into focus and started to make sense.

"...the whole summer jumping into the creek. Someone had rigged up a ropeswing over it, but it was ages old and it snapped while you were on it. I thought you were going to fall where the water was too shallow and break your neck, but you were fine and just laughed at me when I said we should go back to the house."

Sam remembered that summer. The sound of Dean's voice, and the memories made him feel better, gave him something to think about other than the pain. Sam tried to open his eyes, but nothing happened. He tried to twitch his fingers and toes - anything, but his body was completely unresponsive. A tide of panic washed over him, making him lose his focus on Dean's voice, and the darkness swallowed him again.

When it subsided, and he pulled himself back to semi-consciousness, the pain was still there, but so was Dean's voice, although it sounded hoarser and tired.

"...look on your face when you realised it was Nair. I'm always going to treasure that. Course, Dad wasn't pleased, but it was totally worth it." He paused then, and Sam worried that he was going to stop, and he was going to be left alone in the darkness with just the pain and nothing to distract him.

"They said talking to you might help, but I don't think it is," came Dean's voice again, and Sam felt relief flood through him. "You're probably not even listening. You usually don't - I mean, Jesus, Sam, how many times did I tell you to look both ways when you cross a road?"

Sam tried to move again, tried to let Dean know that he was here and that it was helping to hear him talk, but his body was still uncooperative. He wondered how long he'd been like that, and then whether he'd ever wake up. The thought made panic rush through him again, so he fixed on Dean's voice and concentrated on it as hard as he could.

"You know, it almost feels like you did it on purpose, that you're still angry with me for not telling you what you said, and this is your way of getting back at me. Do you remember when I salt-and-burned your teddy bear and you didn't speak to me for two weeks? I thought you were always going to hate me. I swear though, Sam, that bear was possessed. Its eyes used to follow me around the room. It had to be burned."

Sam tried to roll his eyes, but they refused to even flicker.

"Come on, Sam, wake up and bitch at me about how inanimate objects can't be possessed." Dean's words were joking, but his tone gave away his desperation. Sam wondered again how long he'd been out, and how long Dean had been talking to him.

"I promised Dad that I'd take care of you," said Dean, quietly, then he was silent for a while.

Sam tried again to open his eyes, but he couldn't even feel his body - there was just darkness, pain and the steady beep of the heart monitor. Time seemed to stretch out until he wasn't sure if it had been a minute or an hour since Dean had stopped talking. He concentrated on the heart monitor, started counting the beeps, hoping that focusing on something else would make the pain diminish. After a long period, when Sam though he was going to go insane, stuck inside his own head, he heard a door open close by and a woman's voice say, "Good morning. How is he today?"

"No change," said Dean, and Sam wondered if the woman could hear the defeat in his voice as clearly as Sam could. "He didn't even flinch when I threatened to tickle him."

There was the sound of movement to Sam's left. "Well, his stats are all still normal," said the woman. "He seems to be recovering well from the surgery."

"Except he won't wake up," pointed out Dean.

"Keep talking to him - that sometimes helps - and I'm sure he'll wake up when he's good and ready."

Sam mentally snorted. He was ready now, but he couldn't get that through to his body.

"Yeah," said Dean, wearily, "He's only ever done things when he wanted to."

There was silence for a moment, then Sam heard the door open again. "I'll be back in a couple of hours to check on him again. Let us know if there's any change."

"Of course," said Dean, then the door shut and there was silence again.

"Ok," said Dean, clearing his throat, "well, let's make a deal. If I tell you what you said back then, you wake up, ok? I'll tell you everything and then you can stop moping about it and get better."

He paused again, and Sam would have held his breath if he'd had any control over it. He hadn't meant to get so wound up about it in the car, but Dean somehow managed to push all his buttons. He'd been silently fuming, wondering how to get Dean to tell him, when he'd realised that Dean thought he was giving him the silent treatment. That had annoyed him even more and he'd decided that if Dean was going to treat him like a child, he might as well act like one.

"Well," started Dean, "I guess it started while I was playing pool, and you accepted that drink from a stranger - seriously, Sammy, what the hell were you thinking? You yelled for me when you figured out what was going on, and the whole bar went quiet while you were babbling about this guy messing with your drink. You were already talking pretty much nonsense, so I asked the guy what was going on, and he claimed you'd been shooting up in the bathroom and that you wanted to sleep with him, which is about when I hit him. I asked..." Dean paused, then sighed. "What the hell. You probably can't even hear me anyway." He started talking faster, as if just wanting to get it out. "I asked you if you wanted to sleep with the guy, and you said of course not, that I was the only guy you wanted to sleep with."

Sam cringed internally. _Oh fuck._ He'd hoped Dean would never have any clue about that, that he'd be able to keep it a secret for their whole lives that he'd ever had thoughts about Dean that were less than brotherly.

"I wish I knew what the hell you meant by that, Sam," continued Dean, "it completely threw me. Then the manager kicked the guy out and helped me get you out to the car. You were totally out of it by then, kept talking about how you wanted to eat the stars. Oh, and at some point you said I had beautiful eyes, but I can't remember why now."

He paused again, and Sam wondered - hoped that that was it.

"In the car, you were mainly talking about wanting to fly away - I guess that bit was about leaving us for Stanford. You were pretty much just rambling, so I didn't pay a lot attention. When we got back to the house, you touched my lips and said they were girly - which, by the way, wasn't the first time someone's told me that."

He added in a quiet voice, as if he was talking to himself, "Course, after that, it always made me think of you."

Sam heard a chair creak and then the distinctive sound of Dean's footsteps. "That was about the time you started saying that everything was disappearing," continued his voice, moving further away. "You got really worked up about it, and made me promise to stay. Dad was inside, and he helped me get you to bed, then got you some water when you refused to let go of my wrist. Then you slept like the de..." Dean's voice faltered and he corrected himself, "like a log, still holding my wrist. I couldn't get you to let go, so I stayed there till the morning."

Sam heard his boots scrape against the floor. "And that's it. That's everything." Sam heard the chair creak again, then Dean added, hopefully, "You can wake up now."

Sam gave it everything he had, straining with all his effort, but his eyelids refused to move.

"Yeah, I didn't think so," said Dean, tiredly. Sam found that he was just as tired, even though he'd done nothing but lie still and listen. The sound of the machine beside him began to recede, as if he was gently drifting away. He concentrated hard on staying with it and not letting go.

When Dean began to speak again, he focussed initially on the sound without taking in the words, holding onto it to keep himself conscious, before he realised what Dean was saying.

"It really messed me up, you know. I swear I never thought about it before that, but after...God, Sam, I must be sick. Why did you have to go and put the idea in my head and then forget all about it? You probably didn't mean anything by it anyway."

He lapsed into silence and Sam felt the darkness rising up and smothering his consciousness. He let it wash over him, wondering how he was supposed to deal with that.

 


	3. It's All Down To Drugs 3/4

When Sam managed to pull himself back out of the pain enough to hear Dean's voice again, he was back to talking about their childhood.

"We both warned you about the recoil, but you weren't listening, as usual. When you fired, it knocked you flat on your ass. You didn't cry though, you just got back up, looking stubborn, and tried again. I never saw you surprised by a recoil again, not even when you started with the bigger guns. You didn't listen to us, but you learned from your mistakes." He sighed, sounding exhausted, and Sam wondered how much he'd slept since Sam had been knocked down. "Maybe this will teach you to pay attention when you cross roads." The chair squeaked and Sam heard the distinctive sound of Dean's joints popping.

"Wake up, Sam. I'm running out of things to say that don't make me sound like I should be on daytime TV."

Sam huffed a laugh, and was surprised when he felt his breathing change in response.

"Sam?" said Dean, hope filling his voice. Sam felt him touch his hand. "Come on, Sam."

Sam gathered all his strength and concentrated on opening his eyes. He was shocked when he found himself dazzled by light, and looking up into Dean's out-of-focus face.

"Sam," exhaled Dean, and then reached above Sam's head to hit the Nurse Call button.

"Dean," croaked Sam in reply, through a dry throat.

"Jesus, Sam, it's good to see you awake," said Dean, just as a nurse came in. "He woke up," announced Dean with a grin.

"Well, it's about time," she said. She walked over to the bed and smiled down at Sam. "Hello, Sam. I'm Fiona - I've been helping to look after you while you've been out."

Sam managed a smile and a choked, "Hi."

"Don't try and speak yet," she said. "We're going to check you over and make sure everything is ok. You gave us quite a scare."

She turned to the heart monitor, and Sam rolled his eyes at the cliche. Dean snorted beside him, and Sam could hear the relief in it.

Twenty minutes later, Sam had been examined, poked and prodded by two nurses and a doctor, and was feeling exhausted. He felt his eyes slide shut, then opened them again, as wide as he could. What if he didn't wake up again, and went back to that dark, pain-filled half-world, where all he had was Dean's voice? His eyes started to drift again, and he pulled them open with great effort.

Dean had noticed though. "Go to sleep, Sam," he said, "You need the rest."

"Don’t go anywhere then," said Sam, his voice still rusty.

"Course not," said Dean. Sam smiled at him, and let his eyelids fall, sleeping almost immediately.

 

****

 

When he woke up next, it was dark and Dean was asleep in the chair. Sam watched him for a while, and wondered what he should do. He knew Dean would prefer it if he pretended he hadn't heard any of Dean's confession, and they could live their lives as if nothing had happened. Sam wasn't sure he could do that though. He found it hard enough to forget about petty things - something this big would be bound to come out sooner or later. But what could he say?

'Hey, Dean, couldn't help over-hearing that I told you I wanted to sleep with you. Sorry about that - it's just that I've had a huge crush on you for as long as I can remember.'

He couldn't imagine it going down well. And then there was what Dean said afterwards.

_I must be sick. Why did you have to go and put the idea in my head and then forget about it?_

He had no idea what to do or think about that. Maybe it would be best to let it go - after all, Dean clearly didn't think he'd been able to hear, or he probably wouldn't have said it. He sighed and reached for the water on the bedside table. This was such a mess, and he could only imagine it getting worse if they talked about it.

He put the water back down slightly harder than he meant to, his body still stiff and not completely responsive to his commands. Dean gave a start and woke up.

"Sam," he said, his voice rough with sleep.

"Sorry," said Sam, "I didn't mean to wake you."

Dean snorted and rubbed his eyes. "I guess I'm easier to wake than you are."

Sam paused, then asked the question he'd been wondering about, but was sure he didn't want to know the answer to. "How long was I out?"

"Fifteen days," said Dean shortly.

"Jesus," said Sam, shocked. No wonder he felt like shit and Dean looked as if he'd been dragged through hell.

"Yeah," agreed Dean.

There was silence for a moment as Sam tried to come to terms with having lost that much time. "Sorry," he said, after a while.

"Yeah, well, next time remember to stop, look and listen," said Dean.

"No," said Sam, "I'm sorry for before. I shouldn't have gotten so wound up."

"Damn straight," said Dean, then he shrugged. "It's all in the past now anyway."

"Right," agreed Sam. There was another silence, then he added, "Really, fifteen days? And you were talking to me the whole time?"

Dean tensed. "You heard that, huh?"

Sam cursed himself. "Bits of it. I was drifting in and out."

Dean nodded but didn't relax. "Well, they said it might help."

"It did," said Sam. "Thank you."

Dean looked uncomfortable. "Well, I didn't have anything else to do."

Silence stretched between them again, and Sam could almost hear Dean wondering if he'd heard his confession. He thought about starting a conversation about it, and then realised that he really didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want to have to explain anything to Dean, and he was as sure as hell that the last thing Dean wanted was to have to talk about any of it. He'd just let it go.

Sam was still tired - a bone-deep weariness that he couldn't imagine ever going away. "I can't believe how tired I am after sleeping for fifteen days," he said as his eyes drifted shut. If Dean replied, he didn't hear it.

****

 

He was in the hospital for what seemed like ages. In addition to the concussion that had left him in a coma, he'd broken several ribs, one of which had punctured his lung, and had dislocated his shoulder. The doctors had patched him up, but he still got tired quickly, and found himself having trouble breathing if he did too much. The forced inactivity of his coma had wasted his muscles and as soon as he was fit enough, he started having physiotherapy sessions which left him feeling like shit.

Dean stayed with him the whole time. Bobby popped by a few times, and Sam gathered that after the accident, he'd got their stuff, checked them out of the motel, and driven the Impala over to the hospital. The idea of Dean letting anyone, even Bobby, drive the Impala made Sam realise how worried Dean had been, and that was only reinforced by the way Dean hovered around him, seemingly unwilling to let Sam out of his sight unless he had to.

Sam brought it up one evening, while they were watching some truly awful made-for-TV movie. "You don't have to stay here, you know. You could go to a bar or something if you want."

Dean frowned at him. "You trying to get rid of me? Got a date with one of the nurses?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "No, I just figured you'd be as sick of this place as I am. Probably more. I know how you hate hospitals."

Dean turned his attention back to the TV. "I'm not going anywhere," he said firmly.

Sam sighed and left it at that.

 

****

 

He still found himself getting to tired all the time, and taking naps throughout the day, especially after his physiotherapy sessions. It was during one of these naps that Dean woke him up, glancing anxiously at the door.

"Sam, wake up," he hissed.

"What?" asked Sam, grumpy at being woken. He struggled to sit up, and Dean helped him automatically.

"I'm going to have to go," he said.

Sam frowned. "What?"

"They've finally realised that your insurance isn't legit," explained Dean. "They're starting to do some checks. Won't be long before the police turn up and realise that maybe Dean Winchester isn't as dead as they thought."

Sam's brow furrowed as he processed this. "Right."

"So, I have to go, but when you're all healed I'll come back and get you, ok?"

"No," said Sam. "I'll come with you."

"Sam," started Dean, but Sam talked over him.

"I don't need to be here anymore - it's just rest and recovery now, and I can do that anywhere."

"Don't be ridiculous," said Dean.

"I'm not," insisted Sam. "I'm sticking with you."

Dean clenched his jaw and looked at the door again.

"Don't make me have to follow you," said Sam, warningly.

"Fine," relented Dean.

Sam swung his legs out of bed. "I'll need some clothes," he said, then hesitated. He wasn't able to walk more than a couple of steps yet without stopping for a rest. "And probably a wheelchair."

Dean sighed. "Wait here," he said, needlessly, before vanishing back out the door.

Sam took off his hospital-issue pyjama top, gingerly pulling it around his fading bruises and wincing as his ribs complained. He really wanted to just lie back down in bed and go to sleep, but the idea of waking up to find Dean gone was unbearable.

Dean came back after only a few minutes, pushing a wheelchair with a bundle of clothes on the seat. He glanced at Sam, and Sam thought he could see something hot flash in Dean's eyes for a moment, then it was gone, and Dean was looking back out at the corridor.

It took Sam an annoyingly long time to get dressed, while Dean paced between the window and the door, keeping an eye out for any sign of trouble.

"Do you need a hand?" he asked, as Sam struggled into his sweat pants.

"No, I'm good," said Sam, not sure having Dean that close to him while he was only partially clothed would be a good idea. Dean picked up Sam's chart instead, and squinted at it for a moment, before tearing off the top sheet.

"I'll be right back," he said, as he left the room again.

Sam picked up the shirt Dean had brought and sighed. Getting into it was not going to be fun.

By the time Dean returned, he'd managed to get all his clothes on except the hoodie - just the thought of trying to get it over his head without hurting himself was exhausting, and his breathing was starting to require concentration, so he'd just manoeuvred himself into the wheelchair and left it at that.

Dean took one look at him and said, "You'll need that hoodie on. It's cold outside."

"Um," said Sam, embarrassed to admit he needed help. Dean rolled his eyes and picked it up.

"Sometimes you're just too damn stubborn," he said, pushing it over Sam's head, then helping him push his uninjured arm through the sleeve.

"Right," Dean said, looking around, "Got everything? Let's get the hell out of here."

They managed to escape the hospital without running into anyone who would recognise them and cause a fuss about Sam leaving, and Dean wheeled Sam out to where the Impala was parked. Sam managed to get from the chair into the passenger seat with only a few twinges of pain, and then spent several minutes trying to find a position to sit in that didn't make his ribs ache.

Dean looked at him, brow wrinkled with worry. "Maybe you should stay here," he said.

"I'm fine," insisted Sam, "let's go."

Dean shrugged, then started the engine and pulled away. "We've just got to cross the state line," he said. "That's two hours away. Then we'll find a motel to hole up in."

Sam nodded. Two hours - he could cope with two hours sitting in the car, even if he could feel the broken ends of his ribs grating together.

By some miracle, he managed to drift off to sleep after only half an hour of gritting his teeth every time they hit a bump. When he woke up, night was falling and they were parked outside a motel. The passenger door was open and Dean was crouching by Sam's side, one hand still on his knee where he'd woken him up.

"Let's get you inside," he said.

"Right," answered Sam, hoarsely. Everything hurt. His chest felt like an elephant had sat on it, his breathing was becoming strangled, his shoulder burned with pain and even his head had started to ache again.

He had to lean on Dean a lot more than he wanted to in order to make it inside the motel room. Dean sat him on the bed, then bought him a glass of water and two pills. "Painkillers," he said as Sam took them. "I swiped them from the hospital, so they should be pretty strong."

Sam leaned back against the headboard. "You stole drugs from a hospital?" he said.

Dean shrugged. "You needed them," he said simply. He was watching Sam again with that look that said 'I'm worried you'll break if I look away.' Sam shut his eyes to block it out.

"Oh no," said Dean, "You're not going to sleep again yet."

Sam opened his eyes and scowled at him. "Why not?"

"You're going to eat something first," said Dean, firmly. He pulled his cell out. "Pizza or chinese?"

The thought of any kind of food made Sam feel queasy, but Dean had his determined 'I will bitch at you until you do this' face on, and just the thought of arguing with him made Sam feel weary. "Pizza," he said. "Really plain pizza."

Dean nodded and started to dial. Sam shut his eyes while Dean ordered - just to rest them, he wasn't going to sleep.

"Wake up, Sam," said Dean's voice, sounding hazy and far away. Sam suddenly panicked that he was in the coma again and sat up violently, opening his eyes. The room spun and his ribs complained, but he could barely feel them.

"Wow, Dean," he said, and his voice sounded as if it was underground, echoing in his head like a cave. "Those pills were strong. Are you sure I was supposed to take two?"

Dean's brow furrowed and he pulled out a piece of paper and the pill bottle. Sam's eyes drifted away and he noticed that the stain on the ceiling was almost the exact same shape as California. It seemed to be swaying slightly, but then, so was everything else.

 

****

 

By the time the pizza came, Sam was as high as a kite and Dean was kicking himself for not paying closer attention when he'd given Sam the pills. He'd been distracted by Sam's pale face and the way he'd winced every time he'd moved, and just assumed it would be two pills, like it normally was. He figured that all he could do was get as much food and water into Sam as possible, in the hopes of soaking the drugs up a bit, and then let him sleep it off.

He helped Sam sit up a bit more, then handed him a slice of pizza. Sam looked at it for a very long moment.

"Pizza," he said eventually, as if he'd just worked out what it was. "I hope it doesn't make me throw up."

He took a bite just as Dean sighed, put down his own slice and went to find the garbage can to put by Sam's bed, just in case.

"You better not," he said, "or you're clearing it up, even if you are hurt," but even he could tell he didn't sound convincing.

"Oh, you'll take care of me," said Sam complacently. "You always do. Even when I was roofied and telling you I wanted to sleep with you."

Dean choked on his pizza. _Fuck, he did hear._ Dean had been wondering that since Sam had woken up, studying his behaviour for any clues, but Sam hadn't said or done anything to make him think that he had heard Dean's desperate confession.

"I wonder if this is like being roofied," continued Sam, not noticing Dean's shock. "Was everything swaying then too?" He looked at Dean then and frowned. "Is something wrong?"

Dean shook his head, "No, I'm good," but he could already see the cogs in Sam's head turning, replaying the last few minutes.

"Oh," he said, sounding upset. "I didn’t meant to tell you that," He stared down at his pizza, looking miserable, and Dean sought to reassure him.

"It's ok, Sammy."

Sam shook his head violently, then winced and put his hand on his shoulder, "It's not," he insisted. "You didn't really mean for me to hear it, so it's not right for me to bring it up."

Dean resisted the temptation to roll his eyes - trust Sam to only get that now, after causing all this trouble.

Sam put the remains of his slice on the bedside table. "I want to go to sleep," he announced, "so that when I wake up, I'll be able to stop myself saying things. Otherwise I might end up telling you that I still want to sleep with you."

Dean gaped, unable to believe what he'd just heard, as Sam lay down and shut his eyes resolutely. "I'm going to sleep now."

"Right," said Dean, trying to sound normal. "Goodnight Sam."

"Goodnight," said Sam, and was asleep in minutes.

Dean stared at him for a very long time, replaying those words in his head.

_Otherwise I might end up telling you that I still want to sleep with you._

Jesus Christ. He'd been so bent on keeping Sam from finding out about his own less-than-brotherly desires - looking away whenever he felt his gaze heat up at the sight of Sam's body and not even touching him unless he couldn't help it, even when it killed him to watch Sam painfully struggling with his clothes, because what if he wasn't strong enough to stop himself from taking advantage of being so close to Sam's bare skin?

And now it seemed that Sam would have welcomed it - that he wanted it too. Dean cursed himself that they'd wasted all this time, cleared away the remains of the pizza, largely uneaten by either of them, and went to bed, deciding that there'd been enough pussy-footing around and tomorrow it was time to take action.

 


	4. It's All Down To Drugs 4/4

Sam woke up slowly, swimming to consciousness through a golden haze. He felt completely relaxed, as if he'd had his first really deep sleep for ages. His ribs and shoulder were hurting, but only in the dull way that they had been for the last week or so, not with the fresh, burning pain that they'd flared to last night. He opened his eyes to see Dean sitting on the other bed, surrounded by their weapons and cleaning one of the handguns. He put it down when he saw Sam was awake.

"Morning," he said, "How do you feel?"

"Pretty good," replied Sam, resisting the temptation to stretch because of his injuries. "Better than I have in a while."

"Yeah?" There was something in Dean's voice that Sam couldn't quite identify. Apprehension, maybe, or anticipation. "All the drugs out of your system now? You thinking clearly?"

"I think so." said Sam. He thought about it for a moment. "Yeah, I'm with it now. I'm just hungry."

"Right," said Dean. He stood up, crossed to Sam's bed and sat on the edge of it. "Then if we both know what we're doing..." he started, before putting one hand on Sam's waist, bending down and kissing him firmly, pressing him into the bed while carefully avoiding Sam's chest and shoulder. Sam was too shocked to react for a moment, then opened his mouth, returning the kiss with fervour. One hand clutched at Dean's arm where he was holding Sam's waist, while the other came up to cradle his face, feeling the stubble along his jaw. A few minutes passed, and Sam lost himself in the sensation of kissing Dean - of finally kissing Dean - then Dean pulled away, although he left his hand on Sam's waist.

"Fuck," said Sam, unable to construct a more coherent thought.

Dean smirked. "Not until you're all healed up," he said.

Sam could feel the shell-shocked, vacant expression on his face, and tried to pull himself together. "Where did that come from?" he asked.

Dean gave a little, slightly embarrassed half-shrug. "I guess I'm fed up with secrets too," he said.

"Right," said Sam. He cast his mind back to the night before, trying to pinpoint the trigger, and found his memory was just a blur. He recalled pizza, and talking to Dean, but he had no idea what about. "Did I say something last night?" he asked.

Dean laughed. "You know, we really should have more conversations that we both remember." He bent down and kissed Sam again, and Sam gave in to him, deciding that it really didn't matter what had prompted Dean, only that that he'd made a move.

When Dean sat back, he was looking at Sam very intently, and said, "This is okay?"

"God, yes," said Sam, then felt embarrassed by the strength of his response.

Dean grinned, then stood up and started to put his coat on.

"Where are you going?" asked Sam, sitting up carefully.

"Grocery store," said Dean, picking up his keys. "You said you were hungry."

"Right," said Sam, "of course."

Dean paused before he left, looking at Sam for a long moment before saying, "Don't let anyone in while I'm gone."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Course not."

Dean nodded, then left, shutting the door carefully behind him.

 

****

 

When Dean returned an hour later, Sam had still not managed to get his head around what had happened. It all seemed a little surreal still, as if he was still in a hazy dreamworld caused by drugs. He had managed to make it to the bathroom on his own, leaning on walls and sitting on the toilet for a while before he felt up to getting back to the bed.

Dean came back with what looked like enough food to feed an army. He dumped the bags on the desk and immediately started sorting through them. "Chicken salad or ham and cheese?" he asked, pulling out two sandwiches.

"Chicken," said Sam, and Dean tossed one of them over to him. Sam managed to catch it slightly awkwardly with one hand, but in reaching out managed to pull at his ribs painfully, which made him hiss between his teeth.

"You know, you really should have stayed in the hospital," said Dean, bringing over a bottle of water and a couple of pills. Sam took the water, but just looked at the pills suspiciously.

Dean sighed. "They're just Advil," he said. "I'm not going to get you high again."

Sam snorted disbelievingly but took the pills anyway. "If you do," he said, "I'm going to put chilli powder in your boxers."

Dean looked disturbed at the idea, then smirked. "I was kinda hoping to get your hands in my boxers."

Sam felt heat run through his body at the idea and had to work very hard to keep himself from blushing. "Well, then, you really should avoid drugging me," he said after a moment.

"I can do that," said Dean, sitting down on his bed with his own sandwich. "Besides, I have other plans for you today." Sam raised an eyebrow and Dean grinned at him. "How much do you remember of what your physiotherapist had you doing?"

Sam groaned. "Come on, can't I take at least today off?"

"Nope," said Dean, unrelentingly, "the sooner you get strong, the sooner we can get out of here."

Sam huffed an annoyed sigh, but he knew Dean was right. Besides, he was really fed up with being stuck in bed all the time.

A couple of hours later, he was regretting giving in so easily. Dean had a different style to the physiotherapist at the hospital. Rather than, "Come on, Sam, you can manage a bit more," Dean 'encouraged' him with "Come on, pussy, is that the best you can do?" By the time Dean let him relax, Sam was almost ready to risk the pain just so he could punch Dean. He ached all over in muscles he hadn't known he had. Dean gave him a couple more Advil with a satisfied grin.

"That was ok," he said, "but I bet you can do better tomorrow."

Sam glared at him, but was too exhausted to reply, instead just lying back down on the bed and going to sleep.

 

 

****

 

When he woke up, Dean was sharpening their knives. Sam wondered what he'd do once their weapons were in all perfect condition - probably go back to watching bad TV like he had at the hospital. Sam sat up, still feeling the burn from earlier, although he could tell it was the good, muscle-rebuilding kind of pain, rather than the over-strained kind.

Dean grinned at him. "How you feeling?" he asked, in the smug tone of someone who hasn't got any burning muscles at all. Sam had a sudden image of kissing the smug look off his face, pushing him back onto the bed amidst the knives and getting him naked as quickly as possible so that he could try out all the things he'd been fantasising about. It gave him a little rush of pleasure when he realised that he could, that Dean wouldn't be revolted and, if his actions this morning were anything to go by, he'd even welcome it. However, he could tell that his body really wasn't up to it - he'd be lucky if he could hobble to the bathroom on his own, and his bladder was telling him pretty clearly that he needed to attempt that soon.

"Fine," he lied. "Just need to go to the bathroom." He sat up, wondering when he'd be able to do so without feeling like an old man.

"Need a hand?" offered Dean, putting down the knife he was sharpening.

Sam was tempted for a moment, then shook his head. "No, I'll be fine." If he leaned on Dean all the time, he was never going to get his strength back.

It took him even longer than it had that morning and he could feel Dean's eyes on him the whole time, which made him very conscious of how often he had to lean his weight on the wall. Dean didn't say anything though, just watched him until he'd made it into the bathroom and shut the door.

He really wanted a shower, but he suspected that he was going to have to get Dean to put a chair in the bath for him before he could manage one, so he settled for just using the toilet and washing his face and hands.

Dean was packing away the knives when Sam opened the door and carefully moved over to the chair, sitting down with a sigh of relief.

"I ordered Chinese," Dean said, "it'll be here in about ten minutes." He put the last of the knives in the bag and then put it on the floor. "And Bobby called while you were asleep - apparently there's a hunt for a handsome guy and his cripple brother who skipped out on their medical bills."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "How serious?"

Dean shrugged. "Not enough to bother us here. I don't think they've made the connection with St Louis."

"They probably won't if they haven't yet," pointed out Sam. Dean nodded in agreement.

The conversation seemed so normal, but Sam could feel the layers beneath it, the sense that everything had changed with Dean's actions this morning, just like it had been all day. He suddenly couldn't stop watching Dean's mouth as he spoke, remembering the feel of his lips against it. It felt like their whole relationship had been realigned, every word and gesture had a different meaning behind it now. Every casual touch, even when Dean had been helping him with his exercises, now seemed more deliberate, the intentions behind it different to what they had been the day before.

When the take-out came, they bickered over the spring rolls the way they always did, Dean claiming he should get the extra one because he was older, while Sam pointed out that he was bigger and clearly needed more food than Dean, especially as he was still recovering. It felt like they were just going through the motions, though. When they reached the inevitable conclusion of breaking it in half, Dean did it and then held out Sam's half, and Sam just ate it straight out of his hand, feeling Dean shudder slightly when he licked the grease off Dean's fingers.

It was good Chinese and Sam took care to lick all the hoisin sauce off his fingers when he'd finished. He looked up at Dean to see him staring with a heated expression. Sam had a slight sense of deja vu, remembering other times he'd seen that look on Dean's face and figured he just wanted Sam's food. This time, though, another interpretation crossed his mind, and he slowed down his movement, licking slowly up one of his fingers to gauge Dean's reaction. Dean didn't look away like he usually did, but instead reached out and took Sam's wrist, gently pulling his hand away from his mouth and then replaced it with his own, licking Sam's fingers clean himself, tongue running all the way down from the tips of Sam's fingers into the gaps between his knuckles.

Sam didn't move, could barely breathe as every nerve ending in his body tingled with the sensation. When every one of his fingers was clean, Dean sucked on Sam's forefinger, his cheeks hollowing obscenely and Sam felt his cock, already very interested, harden further.

Dean let his hand go and said, "How you feeling?" Sam wasn't sure how to answer that but was saved from having to find the words when Dean continued, "Because I really want to suck your dick, if you're up for it."

Sam just stared at him for a second, his throat suddenly dry, then found his voice. "I'm up for that. Definitely. Feeling much better."

"You sure?" said Dean, "I don't want to hurt you," but Sam could see the smirk in his eyes and glared at him.

"I'm fine," he gritted out, "and if you don't, I'm just going to jack off anyway."

Dean grinned and stood up. "Well, we can't have that - you might strain your shoulder. Guess I'm just going to have to suck you off." He started to clear away the garbage from their meal and Sam could feel a frustrated whine growing in his chest.

"Dean, can't that wait?"

"Nope," said Dean, unrepentantly, "cos you'll moan if I leave it out all night, and I seriously doubt I'm going to want to do it afterwards."

Sam huffed and watched in silence as Dean cleared up, feeling his anticipation rise, and his cock twitch as his brain began to present him with images of what Dean might look like with his lips wrapped around Sam's cock.

Dean sat down on the bed and looked at him. "Come on then," he said.

Sam felt his muscles ache at the idea of having to move again today, but he could tell by the glint in Dean's eye that this was a challenge. If he couldn't get over to the bed on his own, Dean would probably decide that Sam wasn't well enough for this yet. Sam gritted his teeth, stood up carefully and took the three long steps over to Dean. To prove the point, rather than collapsing down onto the bed like he wanted to, he pulled Dean up by his shirt, ignoring the complaints from his ribs, and kissed him, pulling his body close with one hand and hoping that Dean didn't notice how much Sam was leaning on him. Dean made an approving noise deep in his throat and clung tightly to Sam, manouevering him around and then gently pushing him down on the bed. Dean followed him down, kneeling between Sam's legs as he unbuttoned Sam's shirt, his mouth moving down Sam's neck and across his chest.

Sam closed his eyes and gasped. It felt like Dean was trying to taste every inch of his skin, kissing and licking his way ever lower, working around the bandages across Sam's ribs. When he reached Sam's sweatpants, he didn't even pause, just moved back enough to slide them off before mouthing down Sam's hip and across his thigh, bypassing his cock entirely.

"Fuck, come on, Dean," gasped Sam, feeling as if his whole body was on fire. Dean didn't respond, just crossed to the other thigh and kissed up the inside of it, nipping gently as he reached the top and Sam sucked in a breath that made his lung remind him it was still on the mend. His cock was now straining up towards his stomach, desperate to be touched, and Sam couldn't stop himself from begging.

"Please, Dean, please, stop teasing."

Dean sat back with a grin, and Sam couldn't stop the frustrated groan that erupted from his mouth. "Come on," said Dean, "Where would be the fun in that?"

Sam gritted his teeth and glared at him, but Dean seemed to have lost his train of thought and was just staring at Sam with an expression of wonder. "Jesus, Sam," he said, "Do you have any idea...?" His voice trailed off.

"Dean," said Sam, trying to sound reasonable, "come on, Dean, just touch me. Please."

The grin returned to Dean's face. "In a minute," he said and stripped off his shirt. "I figure we should both be naked for this."

Sam had to agree with him, even in his current, frustrated, state. His eyes skimmed over Dean's body as he stood back to take his jeans off, taking in all the details he'd previously only allowed himself to look at out of the corner of his eye. More than anything he wanted to sit up and touch Dean's skin, investigate it as thoroughly as Dean had his, but when he tried to move he forgot about his shoulder, putting more weight on it than he should have. He tried to hide his pained wince, but Dean had seen it.

"You ok?" he said, frowning with concern.

"Fine," said Sam, "completely fine, except you need to be down here so that I can touch you."

Dean smirked and moved closer, but remained tantilisingly just out of reach. "I don't know," he said. "If you're hurting yourself just trying to sit up..."

Sam glared at him. "Dean," he said firmly.

Dean gave in and knelt on the bed again. "As if I'm going to leave you with this," he said, grasping Sam's erection and making him gasp. "I'm not that cruel."

"Thank god," said Sam, ignoring Dean's chuckle and focusing on the feel of Dean's hand on his cock. Dean leaned forward and kissed him again, pressing him into the mattress, before moving back down Sam's body.

"Please," said Sam as Dean paused, his mouth so close to Sam's dick that Sam could feel his breath. Dean finally took pity on him and suddenly his mouth was there, hot and wet and amazing, making Sam gasp and his hips thrust, and he was completely unable to stop them. He curled his hands around Dean's head and felt himself begin to come apart, no longer caring about the pain in his chest as he writhed under Dean's expert mouth. When he came, it felt like all the pain, stress and tension of the last few weeks, months, years was pouring out of him, and Dean took it all, swallowing as if he'd been waiting his whole life to take it in.

Sam felt wrung out, his breath coming hard and heavy and hitching in his lung. When he opened his eyes, Dean was kneeling up, staring at him and jacking himself off so hard that Sam thought it must hurt. He wanted to help, wanted to sit up and replace Dean's hand with his own, kiss his way along Dean's collarbone, but he couldn't move. Every drop of energy had left him with his orgasm, and he could feel every mottled bruise and jagged edge of bone, so instead he just watched, trying to take in every detail as Dean stroked himself until he came with a groan.

Dean took a couple of deep breaths, then looked at Sam and smiled, and Sam couldn't help smiling back. What they'd just done was something that no one else would ever understand, and he really should have been freaking out about it, but he'd wanted it for so long and now he had it. He couldn't keep himself from grinning, especially not when Dean looked equally happy. He held out a hand to his brother, "C'mere."

Dean didn't take it. "There's no room," he pointed out and yeah, ok, maybe he had a point, because Sam was sprawled out over the whole bed. Sam frowned and shuffled over as much as he could, trying to hide his wince.

"Plenty of space," he said and Dean sighed, rolled his eyes and gave in, carefully fitting his body besides Sam's.

"You're such a girl," he said, but he didn't sound unhappy about it, and he draped an arm over Sam's stomach in a way that made Sam think that maybe he didn't mind too much.

 

 

****

 

Sam fell asleep almost immediately, but it was still early and Dean wasn't tired at all. Still, he didn't feel like getting up to do something more productive, not with Sam pressed against him, his breath gently tickling Dean's skin. He hadn't thought that it would be so easy this morning, when he'd been cleaning guns, watching Sam sleep, and trying to formulate a plan.

He hadn't been able to decide if he should just go for it, or if he needed to build up to it, or maybe they should talk about it first. He hated talking about things when you could just take action instead, but Sam seemed to prefer it. In the end, after chasing ideas and thoughts around his brain, Sam had solved the problem by waking up, and looking so relaxed and happy that Dean just had to kiss him. Now that he knew it was ok, he couldn't stop himself from doing it. He'd expected Sam to want to angst about it, or discuss what exactly they were doing, and what it meant and all that crap, but instead he'd just let it happen, blinking up at Dean with a half-awake and slightly confused look that made Dean want to do X-rated things to him. Instead, he'd gone to the grocery store, figuring that Sam could probably use some time to wake up a bit and process everything. Besides, there was no way Sam was in a fit condition for what Dean had been wanting.

While he'd been out, he had managed to make a plan, albeit not a very comprehensive one. He decided that he really didn't want this to make things weird, and the best way to avoid that was to act as if there was nothing out of the ordinary about this.

Sam had still been a bit wide-eyed when Dean returned, but he didn't say anything, didn't try and force Dean to talk about his feelings or anything. He even fell in with Dean's strategy, bitching at him as if nothing mind-blowing and illegal had happened that morning and doing his physical therapy exercises with the kind of grumpy bad grace that Dean had come to expect from him. The only difference was that, occasionally, he'd give Dean a sudden hot look that would have Dean desperately reminding himself that Sam was hurt and couldn't be thrown onto the bed and fucked through the mattress. By the time Sam was sucking hoisin sauce off his fingers with a look on his face of almost orgasmic pleasure, Dean was desperately trying to work out the best way to have sex with someone who was still wincing every time he moved without thinking.

He'd thought that that part of it, at least, would be weird the first time they did it. After all, Sam was his brother - surely the first time he tongued his nipple or tasted his cock it would feel at least a little bit wrong? But it hadn't, it had felt just as natural as breathing, the taste of Sam already so familiar that it seemed stranger that they hadn't done this before then that they were doing it now.

It had all just seemed to fall into place in the same way that Dean's arm had around Sam afterwards, their bodies fitting together on the too-small bed as if they'd been designed for it. Dean watched Sam sleep for a while, noticing the way he frowned occasionally at whatever he was dreaming about, and then gently let himself drift asleep.

 


	5. It's All Down To Drugs Epilogue

 

Dean was being as patient as he could be - so fucking patient that he thought it was going to kill him. Even when every part of him was screaming at him to just throw Sam down on the bed and fuck him until he screamed, he kept his head and took it slow. After all, the last thing he wanted was to injure Sam more, or set back his healing, because then it would be even longer before he could bury himself inside his brother.

Instead, he tried to content himself with blowjobs and hand-jobs and working Sam as hard as he could every day during his physiotherapy exercises. Slowly, so very slowly, Sam began to get stronger and more mobile. The day he was able to walk out to the car and back without a rest, he celebrated by going to his knees for Dean in the shower, his mouth making Dean come apart faster than he had since he was a teenager. A couple of days later, his ribs were healed enough for him to leave off the bandages and for Dean to lower himself onto Sam's cock, trying to relax his muscles around the delicious burn of having Sam so deep inside him whle Sam lay back, gasping and thrusting uncontrollably upwards.

He waited until Sam was almost completely healed before fucking him, though, until Sam's shoulder had regained most of its mobility and he'd gone for a run and come back breathing heavily, but without the disconcerting hitch he'd had since the operation to reinflate his lung. Dean knew that when he did, he wouldn't be able to control himself enough to worry about being gentle with healing injuries. He'd just want to take everything he could, to sink as deep into Sam as possible and claim every part of him.

Sam seemed almost as frustrated as Dean was with the slow pace.

When Dean finally judged him healed enough and said, "Hey you want to get out of this place tomorrow? Maybe go down south and find a job?" he could almost see Sam's eyes light up like a pinball machine.

"Yeah, that'd be good," he said. "I'm pretty sick of this place."

Dean grinned and gave him the look that usually made women finish their drinks in a hurry so that they could drag him back to their place.

"Want to let me fuck you tonight?"

Sam didn't speak or move for several long moments; his eyes growing large before he blinked and said, "Hell, yes," in fervent tones.

Dean felt his grin grow even larger.

****

It was everything he'd been waiting for. Sam was healed enough to do more than just passively lie there and try to avoid hurting himself - he gave as good as he got, as desperate as Dean was to take everything he could from this; kissing, licking and biting until Dean thought he wasn't going to last until the main event.

When he finally sank inside Sam and felt his tight heat surrounding him, it made everything worthwhile. The years of hiding that he wanted this, and worrying about it all suddenly seemed unimportant when compared with Sam's hips thrusting up, or the look on his face as he came, eyes fixed hard on Dean as if he might disappear, full of an emotion that Dean half-remembered from when Sam had been roofied and reaching out for him. It was almost more than he could take, and when he came moments later, he felt as if he was going to break apart.

Sam fell asleep afterwards, still needing more sleep than he usually did, and Dean watched him for a while, thinking about getting back on the road with him. Driving from town to town again, staying in crappy motels and taking out monsters without a word of thanks suddenly seemed a lot more enticing than it had since Dad had died, if he was going to be able to fuck Sam in the motels, and give him blowjobs by the side of the road, and share a victory kiss when the monster was killed. He shut his eyes, and resolutely didn't think about his father's final words, telling himself that they weren't important, and that nothing was going to happen.


End file.
